Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 405

Top Ten Rodents in Cinema And Literature: Guest Blog and Giveaway with Michelle Browne and Nicolas Wilson

Writing Euphoria/Dysphoria, we were struck by the prevalence of rats in the world. They're seen differently, in part due to their place in the City's food chain, but they are stillthe stuff of horror.
In honor of these rats, we rounded up our favorite stories that give these scavenging machines a place or notice. The first one to say “awww, cute” will end up falling to whatever disease is dominant on these particular rodents' fangs.
The Princess BrideNot scary, but belongs here anyways.
Flowers for AlgernonTragic, cutting, and biting. I could be describing the rat or the story.
Night of the LepusA horror movie around rabbits. C'mon.
Monty Python and the Holy Grail.But it's only a rabbit...
Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMHA heartwarming tale about animal experimentation, sick children, deadly cats, and widowhood.
The Rats In The WallsScaring claustrophobic people and insomniacs since 1924.
Pickman's ModelBecause the true stories about subways and rats weren't scary enough.
The Amazing Maurice and His Educated RodentsFunny, cute, and around the two-thirds mark, utterly terrifying. You'll wish you'd never heard of a "rat king", but you'll be glad you picked up this book.
1984The rats don't show up much until the end, but if you ever wondered what's scarier than a totalitarian society--the answer is rats. Scared rats.
The JungleRats may not be the first thing you think of when you consider this muckraking expose of a book, but the dude's kid is eaten by rats when the child is locked in his workplace after hours. That one's a gimme.
And honorable mention to The Nutcracker. Because what kid HASN'T had nightmares about the rat prince, or bobbleheaded soldiers? Happy holidays, everyone. We hope you have relaxing holidays, with a few good books chiseled in between the camaraderie and feasting.

And here's to rats. They'll outlive us all.
Euphoria/DysphoriaMichelle Browne and Nicolas Wilson
Genre: Science Fiction/dystopian biopunk
Date of Publication: 11/20/2014
ISBN:ASIN:
Number of pages: 252Word Count: 63,000 wordsCover Artist: Katie de Long
Book Description:
Execution above or extinction below...
“Please help me. I'm pregnant.”
A chance encounter with a fugitive has turned Christine's life into a nightmare.
Survival is hard enough in the poverty-stricken streets of the Lower Blocks, and this woman is far from the first to flee the Engineers who oversee the City. But now Christine's a target: hunted by the aristocracy, her future uncertain, and past laid bare. And a person with Christine's powers can't afford to be caught.Humanity built the Foundation to elevate themselves from the poisoned earth, but Christine and Ilsa must choose whether to descend to hell below, or remain in hell above.
From post-apocalyptic authors Nicolas Wilson (Homeless), and Michelle Browne (The Underlighters) comes Euphoria/Dysphoria, a biopunk dystopia.


Excerpt One:
Christine knew that with an Engineers’ blood on her hands, she’d be in for it. That was Three for her, for sure. More likely, she would be immediately taken, due to the severity of her transgressions. No reason to play it safe; best-case scenario, she’d probably have to hide out for months to work through all of the changes needed to disguise herself. She thought of the other grey-market acquirers she knew and wondered which of them liked her enough to shelter her.

She cursed the woman running alongside her and herself for getting drawn into this in the first place. It was too late now—she could only hope that she could make her downfall have as great an impact as possible by seeing Ilsa through this. Tearing her mind from the future, she looked at for exits. No time to worry and fuss. She just had to keep moving.
 About the Authors
Michelle Browne:
Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer from Calgary, AB. She has a cat and a partner-in-crime. Her days revolve around freelance editing, jewelry, phuquerie, and nightmares. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible.
She is all over the internet, far too often for anyone’s sanity, and can be found in various places.
http://scifimagpie.blogspot.ca/
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/scifimagpie
https://www.facebook.com/SciFiMagpie
http://www.amazon.com/Michelle-Browne/e/B00BGWZRCW
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/scifimagpie
Nicolas Wilson:
Nicolas Wilson is a published journalist, graphic novelist, and novelist. He lives in the rainy wastes of Portland, Oregon with his wife, four cats and a dog.
Nic's work spans a variety of genres, from political thriller to science fiction and urban fantasy. He has several novels currently available, and many more due for release in the next year. Nic's stories are characterized by his eye for the absurd, the off-color, and the bombastic.
For information on Nic's books, and behind-the-scenes looks at his writing, visit www.nicolaswilson.com
https://www.facebook.com/NovelistNicolasWilson
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6553776.Nicolas_Wilson
https://twitter.com/NicolasWilson
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00AZNYO4U
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Guest Blog and Giveaway with DB Nielson

"Come and share a pot of tea, my home is warm and my friendship's free."~Emilie Barnes

Fancy a scone? Yes, I know that it’s supposed to be ‘fancy a crumpet?’ but work with me here…
I thought it would be fun to blog about the British institution of afternoon tea. It’s almost an established ritual in England and is featured a few times in my novel. My main protagonist, Sage and her mother take tea at Claridge’s, and St. John takes Sage to the teahouse at Mariage Frères when they are in Paris.
A favourite pastime for centuries, let’s rediscover the leisurely ritual of afternoon tea. And it is a bit of a ritual … the ritual of preparing the table, often contributing a dish, and using your favourite linen or tea cups that have been handed down through your family are all ways of creating a sense of occasion and drama and, of course, enjoying quality time with your friends. However, while afternoon tea was once the quintessence of civility, it needn’t be formal; the main point is to enjoy the simple pleasure of taking tea … and to have fun.I love afternoon tea – it’s almost one of my favourite pastimes (there’s nothing quite like a reviving cup of Earl Grey after a hard day writing or shopping or when out with my girlfriends) – and so I’m going to share some of the etiquette of afternoon tea taking, some afternoon tea ideas, and a recipe or two with you all…
So, firstly, let’s clear up some myths… What’s the difference between ‘afternoon tea’ and ‘high tea’? Well, today (perhaps everywhere but London), the two are practically interchangeable … but if we go back two centuries to the Victorian era in England, there was a considerable difference. Afternoon tea, my mother often used to say, is served between the hours of 3-5pm. It is a meal of finger sandwiches, scones and petit fours, and yet was never intended to replace dinner but rather to fill in the long gap between lunch and dinner at a time when dinner was served at 8pm. If you like to read Austen or Gaskell or any historical romances, you may know that ladies had to prepare for the balls and routs and assemblies where they would meet their Mr Darcy – but dinner or supper was served quite late at these events (and often after quite a bit of dancing), so it was necessary to have a stop-gap. Sadly, in some respects, lifestyles have changed since those times and afternoon tea is now a treat, rather than a stop-gap as, alas, there are no more tonnish balls and routs and assemblies. Still, don’t let that ruin your enjoyment – there must be a few Mr Darcys out there in the tea-drinking world…
High Tea, however, was important to the working class in the industrialised world of Victorian England (the effects of the Industrial Revolution were evident), especially as factory workers and miners had to wait until after work for their ‘tea’ and it had to be substantially more than just tea and pretty little cakes and doilies. Workers needed sustenance after a day of hard labour, so the after work meal was more often hot and filling and accompanied by a strong pot of tea to revive their flagging spirits.
According to tea aficionados, the addition of ‘High’ is believed to differentiate between afternoon tea served on comfortable parlour chairs or relaxing on the garden terrace and the worker’s ‘High Tea’ served at the dining table.
Whilst afternoon tea is far less formal today, some simple rules of etiquette still apply…
Pick up your cup and saucer together, holding the saucer in one hand and the cup in the other.Don’t raise or extend your pinkie finger when sipping tea from your cup – this is not a sign of how ‘posh’ you are (no matter what you’ve seen on television).When stirring your tea, avoid making noises by touching or tapping the sides or rim of the cup.Never leave your spoon in the cup, and avoid sipping tea from your spoon. Place the spoon under the handle of the cup on the side when not in use.Milk should be poured into the cup after the tea. Milk is also served cold or room temperature but never heated (as in a cappuccino).Lemon slices should be neatly placed in the teacup after tea has been poured. And never add lemon with milk, as the citric acid will cause the milk to curdle.Remember that a macaroon is not a macaron. A macaroon is a small meringue cake, typically made of coconut and often dipped in chocolate or has a cherry on the top (I often think of it along the idea of a coconut friand) whereas a macaron is a lovely, light, little French almond-meringue treat, just begging to be filled with a favourite filling (my favourite macaron is a pistachio shell filled with raspberries and cream) Taking tea is almost as much about the ambience than simply the delicious food. It’s nice to bring out your fine china – this can be the set handed down the family line, inherited from your great grandmother or it can be a mix-and-match topsy-turvy eclectic collection of cups and saucers much like the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. You can colour coordinate (pastels are always pretty, pinks or lemon, black and white, silver and blue) or aim for a theme (literary ‘luncheon’ or fairytale knights and princesses, Regency era garden party bonnets and bows, or a place theme like Paris or Venice); you can hang lanterns or fairy lights in your garden, or decorate in the manner of Martha Stewart or with ornamental fruit trees in pots; what about having a celestial tea party with tarot cards and tasseology? Whatever you decide to do, have fun with it.
“A Proper Tea is much nicer than a Very Nearly Tea, which is one you forget about afterwards.”  ~A.A. Milne
As A.A.Milne, the author of “Winnie the Pooh” said: if you are going to do a high tea, do it properly. And, of course, Pooh would know!


So here’s the perfect recipe for scones:·        350g self-raising flour ·        1 ½ Tbsp icing sugar mixture ·        1 ½ tsp baking powder ·        1 tsp fine salt ·        150ml pure cream (possible to use buttermilk)·        150ml milk ·        45g butter, melted, cooled ·        1 tsp vanilla essence ·        Extra flour, for dusting ·        Extra 1 Tbsp milk ·        Jam and clotted cream, to serve
1.      Preheat oven to 190°C. Line an oven tray with baking paper. Double or triple-sift flour, sugar, baking powder and salt into a large bowl.
2.      Whisk cream, milk, butter and vanilla in a second bowl.
3.      Make a well in centre of dry ingredients, then pour in cream mixture. Using two knives, mix very gently until a dough just comes together. Put on a lightly floured work surface and, using your hands, flatten to 3cm thick. Use a 5cm biscuit cutter to cut 12-16 discs from dough, re-flattening as necessary.
4.      Arrange discs side-by-side on prepared tray and brush with extra milk. Bake for 15 minutes or until risen and light golden. Set aside for 10 minutes to cool. Serve warm with jam and clotted (or double thick) cream


Of course, don’t forget that you can a lovely cuppa and scone in the company of a good book…


Might I make a recommendation? Try Seed: Keepers of Genesis 1… It goes down especially well with a steaming pot of Earl Grey…




Seed: Keepers of Genesis IKeepers of Genesis SeriesVolume IDB Nielsen
Genre: YA PNR/ Urban Fantasy
Publisher: LBLA Digital
ISBN: 1908879181ASIN: B00K75I06E
Number of pages: 432Word Count:  160,000
Cover Artist: XLintellect PTY LTD
Book Description:
A powerful, hidden artefact is unearthed and, with its discovery, an ancient conflict is reignited. Seventeen-year-old Sage Woods, the daughter of an eminent archaeologist, uncovers the artefact’s disturbing secret and is placed in terrible danger.
Unwittingly, she has stumbled into an invisible war between two primordial dynasties of a supernatural order – a war in which she has a fateful role to play in a race to control the power of the SEED.    
Embroiled in a quest that takes her from the British Museum to the Louvre to the Vatican Secret Archives, Sage realises that her blossoming romance with the mysterious, alluring St. John Rivers is inextricably tied to the artefact.
Up until now, St. John has managed to keep his true identity hidden, but Sage is determined to delve deeper to uncover his dark secret and his connection to the SEED.
It is a decision that will have a devastating effect on humankind…
Available at Amazon


Excerpt:
I had no idea where to begin in my quest, so I decided to simply follow the path of least resistance, working my way around the exhibition. It was like a jigsaw puzzle; reconstructing pieces of the past and trying to find the bigger picture. I didn’t really know what I was looking for, I only hoped that there would be something, some tablet or bas relief, that would be able to shed some light on the artefact and, more importantly, on what I’d seen. I would have sworn that I saw it transform before my eyes in Dad’s office but I didn’t know whether I should doubt myself now. I’d only seen the artefact for a few moments and yet it had felt like it was speaking to me, imparting some ancient knowledge. Of course, I didn’t understand any of it, but I hoped to.Because I was in a reverie, I almost missed the piece altogether. It was a tablet not much more than ten centimetres in length, containing a cuneiform inscription and a unique map of the Mesopotamian world. The symbols on the tablet were an exact copy of some of the symbols I’d seen on the artefact though a little more crudely formed.The cuneiform inscription composed the top section of the tablet whilst, underneath it, was a diagram featuring two concentric circles. The outer circle was surrounded by triangles at what seemed to be random distances. The inner circle held more geometric symbols and cuneiforms. A rectangle in the top half of the inner circle in the centre of the tablet represented Babylon. Assyria, Elam and other cities were also depicted. The tablet and its inscription were by no means complete as it had been reassembled from the broken pieces found by archaeologists. Information was obviously missing but I was elated at finding anything that could tell me more about the artefact.It was because I was so transfixed with my find that I initially failed to notice that I was being scrutinized from across the room. The first I became aware of it was a prickling sensation down my back, the hairs on my neck and arms raised giving me goose bumps. I turned my head round nervously, looking back over my shoulder.He stood at a distance, a young man in his mid-twenties perhaps, taller than average. No mere accident of lighting, his slightly curly locks, the colour of polished brass, formed a halo around a face that was much too beautiful to be called handsome. The only way to describe him was golden. His skin was golden, his hair, which he wore slightly longer than was fashionable, curling into the nape of his neck, was golden and I suspected his eye colour was, if not golden, amber like mine.When I caught him staring at me intently, he neither looked away in embarrassment nor did he pretend to know me. Instead, he continued to assess me with an unblinking, hypnotic gaze. It was I who broke contact first; flushing with embarrassment, I dropped my eyes at once.This can’t be happening! I thought, feeling panicky. Dragging in a deep breath, my eyes skittered back to his. He was still staring at me, his indescribably beautiful face unmoved.My heart fluttered in my chest. I didn’t know what to think – was this some random stalker or had he seen me before around the museum and couldn’t place my face, seeming familiar to him? No serial killer looked the way he did. He was dressed immaculately all in black; a pair of black trousers was topped by a fine woollen black turtleneck. He wore the sleeves rolled up, exposing his sun-kissed skin. And the black only accentuated the perfection of his face. Of course, I had no idea what a serial killer looked like, but I was fairly certain it wasn’t this golden god.As curious as I was, I did the only thing that made sense; I ignored him – or pretended to. Deliberately turning my back on him, I tried to refocus on the tablet in front of me. But I was merely staring blankly, nothing was registering. It was all so unreal.‘It’s not real.’ A low, attractive voice remarked by my side.I almost jumped out of my skin, whirling to face the owner of that voice.‘Sorry if I startled you.’ He smiled, apologetically. ‘I saw you looking at the map of ancient Mesopotamia.’ He nodded in the direction of the display case.I blinked. He was even more stunningly golden up close. He belonged in a museum – he had the kind of face and figure that artists used as a model. Statues should have been made of this man, posing as Apollo, Phaenon or David. I almost envied him his looks; such beauty on a guy wasn’t fair.I had been wrong about the eyes though; they were an impossible jade green flecked with gold and framed by the longest eyelashes on any guy I’d seen. He was also taller than I imagined; a good few inches above six feet. All in all, he was quite a package and way out of my league.I somehow regained my scattered wits to stutter, ‘S-s-sorry?’Great! Now he was going to think I was an idiot! An idiot with a stutter!I almost groaned aloud.

About the Author:
db nielsen was born in British Hong Kong and immigrated to Australia in childhood. db likes to travel the world with family; dividing time between residing in Sydney and visits to the cathedrals, crypts and museums the world over, doing research for new projects. The author is a university lecturer in Linguistics and Semiotics, and continues to teach English Literature and Language whilst writing fiction.
Goodreads: http://goo.gl/tfpbLH
Twitter: https://twitter.com/db_nielsen
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/db.nielsen.author
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/b/115744644823758983175/+Dbnielsen
Website: https://www.dbnielsen.com/
Reviews:  https://www.dbnielsen.com/index.php/reviews
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December 1 InterviewAuthor Karen Swartwww.authorkarenswart.blogspot.com
December 2 SpotlightCassandra M's Place  www.cassandramsplace.com
December 3 Character InterviewEclipse Reviewswww.totaleclipsereviews.blogspot.com
December 4 InterviewDeal Sharing Auntwww.dealsharingaunt.blogspot.com
December 5 Guest blogCounter Culture Critichttp://guyvestal.com/home/
December 8 SpotlightThe Reader's Hollowhttp://thereadershollow.com
December 9 SpotlightLisa’s World of Bookswww.lisasworldofbooks.net
December 10 Guest blogBooks and Taleshttp://booksandtales.blogspot.co.uk/
December 11 InterviewRoxanne’s Realmwww.roxannerhoads.com
December 12 SpotlightShare My Destinyhttp://sharemydestiny.blogspot.com
December 15 Guest BlogFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
December 16 InterviewThe Creatively Green Write at Home Momwww.creativelygreen.blogspot.com
December 17 Spotlight and reviewFang Freakin Tastic Reviews  www.fangfreakintasticreviews.com
December 18 Guest Post Mythical Bookshttp://www.mythicalbooks.blogspot.ro/
December 19 InterviewMom With A Kindlehttp://momwithakindle.blogspot.com
December 22
December 23 ReviewParanormal Romance and Authors That Rockwww.pratr.wordpress.com
December 26 
December 29 Guest post and review
Lissette Manning
http://www.simplistik.org/lissetteemanning

December 30 Guest blogPenny Writeswww.pennybrojacquie.blogspot.com
December 31 Spotlight3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too! http://3partnersinshopping.blogspot.com

Guest Blog and Giveaway Destiny Finds Her by Miranda Lynn

Research: The Devil of Details

I will be the first to tell you that I hate research.
 I mean why can’t I just make it up as I go, it is fiction, right?! That was my outlook when I sat down to right Destiny Finds Her three years ago. I did more visual research than anything by looking up pictures of Scotland, old castles, and even an old broken down stone keep. Old in Scotland doesn't men forgotten.
I wanted to get a feel for Scotland, the landscape, what a large keep looked like, and how it ran. That led to a little investigation on clothing, then transportation, and that led to the little things.
It’s the little things that make something real. How did they dress?. The way they speak, and move, and love? Those were the things I looked for, and when I found them, I wove them into my own visions.
Is it perfect? Nope, and if you are a history buff, I apologize in advance. In the world I built, it fits. I hope you can see it as clearly as I do. That’s the beauty of building a world; you make it someplace you want to go. To live, maybe. To meet Devlin, the highlander? Certainly.
Since writing the first book, my taste for research is refined. For book two and all projects going forward more historical research is on my menu, but this time, I’ll have a team. More eyes mean a wider vision, and in turn, that gives us a richer world for Jami to explore. I still won’t steep my stories in historical facts, because the fantasy is beyond what we know—but it’s well within the life that Jami leads, and her story is the focus. The beauty of Scotland speaks for itself, and I’ll let you decide how much of her life is here, and how much of it is somewhere or somewhen else.
That’s my research process. There are many authors out there who do tons of research before writing, historical and otherwise. Patricia Cornwell is one who immerses herself in research, even to the point of going to a “body farm” to see the different stages of body decomposition. Christine Feehan just got back from a trip to New Orleans where she researched the area, marshes, and bayou for a series she’s writing. Ann Charles visits Deadwood, South Dakota every year where one of her series is set and just moved to Arizona for another setting. That’s immersion, and if I have to go cavort with highlanders for the good of my story, I’ll do it.
But only because I’m dedicated.
To the story, of course. Now, about that ticket to Scotland. . . .

Destiny Finds HerDestiny SeriesBook 1Miranda Lynn
Genre: Romance/Time Travel
ISBN: 1502554267ASIN: B00OZ8JZTU
Number of pages:178
Cover Artist: Sister Sparrow Graphics
Book Description:
Jami – Content with her life working for a publishing house, enjoying her caffeine addiction and her daily banter with best friend Todd. Jami wasn’t one to believe in Destiny. When her world turns upside down just days before her 25th birthday, her beliefs are challenged and time is ripped away. Dozing off in the sun one moment and sitting in a field of heather with a talking hamster the next will rattle any normal girl. But hearing a sexy deep voice and turning to find the Highlander it belongs to will rock anyone’s world!
Devlin-. He loved the annual festival, all the hustle and bustle around the keep, what he couldn’t handle was his mother hounding him about finding that “one” to settle down with as the middle brother he still had plenty of time. He escaped daily to do his rounds along the land’s perimeter, but one day he found someone he wasn’t expecting.  One look, one smell was all it took. He would find out who she was.
Faced with the obstacle of overcoming her fears and embracing her powers, Jami’s destiny is hers to take. Or is it?
Available at Amazon

Excerpt:

As he ventured further along the tree line, the birds started chattering and became restless. The squirrels quickly climbed trees, hiding in their little holes. Devlin’s ears strained to hear what they were hearing. He stepped into the tree line, and faded into the shadows, awaiting what threat may come. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, muscles tensed, ready for a fight. What he saw next was completely unexpected.A young woman treaded softly out of the trees, along one of the many paths the healers used to forage for herbs and fetch water from the brook; a woman Devlin had never seen. She was not garbed in the traditional broadcloth dress, but in pants and some type of jerkin. He’d never seen such clothing. Her hair was pulled away from her face and high atop her head, in a small circle with a tail flowing to her shoulders. Much like a horse’s tail. He stood silently, waiting to see what she’d do.This woman was not from around here; that much was obvious. His muscles coiled, ready to pounce should she take off toward the keep. She simply sat down on the top of the hill, in the rays of the sun, and watched the children. She seemed to be in awe of what she saw in front of her.Devlin wove silently through the trees to the path she’d emerged on. Advancing with years of learned stealth, he moved up behind her. When he was within a few steps, she still was unaware of his presence.The breeze brought a whiff of her scent to him. A sweeter smell Devlin had never encountered. His body reacted immediately. His knees went weak as he breathed her in."Who are ye?" Devlin demanded, sounding a bit gruffer than planned.She jumped, and was gone. Like a ghost into the night. He couldn't believe his eyes. Glancing down, he saw the slight indention from her footsteps. He followed them down the path until they abruptly ended at the brook. He searched the area for her campsite or any signs of where she’d come from. She was a mystery.
After minutes of searching, a sound wafted up to his ears. Tilting his head, he recognized the bells of the gypsy troupe that travelled through the lands. It was time for him to head to the keep and resume the duties of middle son. About the Author:
Mother to two boys, 3 four legged babies, and wife to a loving husband who doesn't mind the extra voices in her head.
Miranda grew up on a dairy farm in Illinois, but calls Portland, TN home now. She is an avid reader, coffee addict, and loves her day job working at the local public library. Though her true passion is in creating her own worlds, characters, and stories for her readers.
Website: www.mirandalynn.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MirandaLynnBks

Twitter: @MirandaLynnBks
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+MirandaLynnAuthor/posts
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Spotlight and Giveaway Lovely by Elizabeth SaFleur

LovelyElite Doms of Washington SeriesBook OneElizabeth SaFleur
Published by: Troll River Publications
ISBN: 978-1-939564-48-1ASIN: B00P3CHMQ0
Book Description:
Can you have love and power at the same time?
Congressman Jonathan Brond has mastered his work, his reputation and the art of sexual domination while keeping his family’s political legacy intact. But a chance encounter with college student Christiana Snow promises something he didn’t think was possible–meeting someone honest.
When the charismatic man proposes a summer of sensual, sexual submission, Christiana leaps into his world—the antidote to her bland life. But Washington, D.C. is an unforgiving place; soon gossip and scandal threatens their relationship.
Yet, in a town of players, sometimes introducing a new game is the only way out. Who knew love would be the winning plan?
Stand alone. Not a cliff-hanger.
Available at Amazon   Kobo  Smashwords Goodreads
For a sneak peak at the Elite Doms’ attempt to bring a little discipline to Washington, D.C., curious readers can download Holiday Ties, the series’ first novelette, free from Amazon and Smashwords
Chapter One
The Jefferson Suite had a reputation. Everyone said so.Christiana Snow watched Henrick, the sous-chef, slip a red rose into the silver bud vase on the room service tray she’d been tasked to deliver. “There are some naughty stories about the guests that stay in that suite.” He winked. “Let me take you to dinner, and I’ll tell you all about it."She turned her back on Henrick’s smirk—and his eyes that never seemed to travel farther north than her neck. Since the day Christiana started working at The Oak she’d fought the desire to bend her knees to force his gaze to her face. It would only give him the wrong idea.Instead she threw back two ibuprofens with her milk and then set the glass into a nearby bin of dirty dishes. Gossip made her head hurt.She felt Henrick’s eyes travel her body as she pushed the room service cart into the elevator. "For a reporter's daughter, you aren't very curious,” he called after her.Curiosity wasn’t the issue. The Oak, which stood mere blocks from the White House, attracted politicians and paparazzi—and dozens of men, sporting earbuds attached to wires disappearing into their dark suits, sent to watch them both. It took real concentration to ignore the stories that the hotel’s staff collected like trophies.At least the tips were good at the boutique hotel and restaurant, and the mundane work gave her time to think—or think forward, as her father always said. And that’s what she was going to do—think forward and move forward. She didn’t have time to get wrapped up in other people’s lives and certainly not the pseudo reality of the D.C. politicos. The elevator creaked to a stop. Water sloshed in the silver pitcher as Christiana leaned over the cart to push the slatted metal door aside. A dusty, oil-paint smell greeted her as she started down the hallway, lined with canvases of hunting scenes set in over-sized, gilded frames higher than she was tall and wider than her arms could stretch.Christiana took in a lungful of the stagnant air as she reached the Jefferson Suite’s double doors at the end of the corridor. She knocked and listened for the sound of footsteps. No one came.Her leg danced with impatience. Mrs. DeCord’s order was Christiana’s last task of the day, and she wanted to finish it as fast as possible to rush off to meet Avery, her best friend. Christiana had agreed to be her “date” at some society fundraiser that afternoon.Christiana studied the rich mahogany crown molding, lining the long hallway. Gold brocade wallpaper led her eyes to images of smiling women, draped in gossamer swaths of pastel blue and green fabric. They stared down from their ceiling mural home, their eyes cold and full of secrets.Christiana knocked on the door once more. After no response, she pulled her master key card from her apron pocket and slipped it to the lock slot. The door cracked open but stopped against something on the other side. Through the gap in the door, she saw a man’s shoe lying on its side.She called into the room, “Hello? Room service. Ma’am?” No one answered though muffled voices resonated deeper within.Well, she couldn’t wait. She pushed harder on the door, and the shoe slid aside. The cart’s wheels whispered over the marble entryway floor. She announced herself one more time. No reply. She picked up the man’s dress shoe, an expensive leather smell wafting to her nose. She set it down beside a tufted chair in the hall.A male voice echoed from the bathroom off the suite’s master bedroom. “No, Yvette.”“Please take me. I won’t say a thing.” Mrs. DeCord’s voice reverberated off the tile.“You know our agreement.”Mrs. DeCord whined, “I don’t understand why I wasn’t invited. I’ll show up anyway.”“You won’t do any such thing, Yvette.” He spoke her name like a caress. “Take off your panties.”Christiana’s insides seized at the man’s abrupt change in tone. Maybe she had heard wrong. After a long silence, she urged the cart forward, but the wheels bogged down on the plush carpet in the living area.The voice spoke. “Bend over, put your hands on the counter. Good. Look in the mirror. Eyes on me, Yvette.”Smack! A sharp slap pierced the air, and Christiana jerked backward as if stung. Mrs. DeCord moaned. Was she hurt?Christiana couldn’t break her gaze, eyes glued on the bedroom doors. They weren’t closed completely. They were slightly ajar, a sliver of the interior showing through a small crack.“Open your legs.” The man’s voice, sandpaper and velvet, rooted Christiana in place even though her heart fluttered wildly. “Very nice, baby.”Christiana took a deep breath to steady herself, inhaling musk mixed with the fragrance of lilacs. Something else hung heavy in the air.Mrs. DeCord’s whimpers grew louder.Should she call, so they knew she wasn’t trying to hide her presence? If they saw her, would they realize she had overheard? Should she leave? If she abandoned the lunch, they’d know she’d heard and run away, probably to gossip.“Mmm, you like that, don’t you, sweetheart?”Christiana licked her lips at the man’s chocolate-caramel tone. She tried to place the voice—maybe he was a radio announcer. No, he sounded too sexy and way too dangerous.Slap! Slap!Christiana’s leg bumped into the cart and silverware clanked. Water splashed on the linen, and she stilled, but no new sound came from the bedroom.She couldn’t abandon the lunch in the middle of the living room. She’d just have to be quick. Christiana maneuvered the cart to the small bay window overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. She set up the silver and lifted the dome on Mrs. DeCord’s salad.“Touch yourself,” the deep, rich voice said. Christiana’s heart punched at her ribs, and she lifted one hand to her breast to still it. Her eyes darted to the doors.She gulped and tried to shake off the sound of the man’s sexy intonation. Christiana tiptoed over to the French doors of the master bedroom and risked a peek into the room. The bed’s comforter wilted over one side of the bed, and sheets bunched in a tight wad at the foot, bulging through the brass rails of the footboard. Pillows lay scattered on the floor. Braided black ropes hung limply from the frame of the headboard. She envisioned a restrained body, spread-eagle and helpless on the bed. Oh, god.A chill broke out across her body. Instinct told her to click the doors shut. She winced at the snick of the door jam. Did they hear her?More whispers escaped from behind the closed doors. She couldn’t make out the words, but the sensual rhythm of his voice rose and fell in a soothing, hypnotic cadence. Christiana’s ears strained for the man’s instructions, for what he wanted Mrs. DeCord to do next. Footsteps brushed across the carpet in the bedroom. The man spoke in rumbling purrs, approaching the bed.She bit her bottom lip when a thought arose about that strange, human scent. Sex. A pang hit between her thighs as an image slipped into place of the faceless man—with that voice—putting his mouth on Mrs. DeCord’s neck.A long wail and an ecstatic groan drifted from inside the bedroom.Christiana stepped back. She needed to leave—now. If caught eavesdropping, even accidentally, she’d be dismissed. She clutched the silver dome to her chest like a shield and slunk to the marble foyer. The man’s smoky voice oozed into the main room as the suite’s front door clacked behind her, a barrier to . . . what?She jogged down the long hallway to the elevator, punched the call button, and tried to steady her breathing as the elevator creaked upward. The man’s voice still reverberated in her chest. Relief coursed through her body, glad she hadn’t run into either of them inside, especially him. One look and he would have guessed she’d heard, had sucked in the air, heavy with sex, and understood.Her imagination settled on Mrs. DeCord pressed into the mattress under a dark, mysterious man. His lips floated over her breast. Christiana shook her head in a vain attempt to stop the image from evolving into the man slipping his hands between the woman’s legs.Christiana hit the button twice more. Come on. She gave up on the antiquated elevator and headed to the stairs. More questions surfaced with each step downward.Did Henrik’s wink mean he knew? Who was Mrs. DeCord hooking up with in the Jefferson Suite? The mystery man had done something carnal to her, something she’d wanted done, though Christiana couldn’t imagine what. Something with ropes and slaps and Lord knows what else. Maybe she should’ve listened when the other waitresses, huddled in the employee break room, tittered about who slipped through the hotel lobby trying not to be noticed.Then again, maybe not. She began to understand why her manager, Brian, had directed staff to drop off the orders and avoid looking around. He had warned, “In the political climate of Washington, D.C., some things are best not to see.”Christiana dislodged her overactive daydreaming and ran to the staff room to gather her things before clocking out. She jumped when her phone rang.“Hey, get here already! I’m guarding your dress in the main ladies room. You know where,” Avery said. “I never wore it, and you seem to like blue.”Avery’s closet enjoyed a regular turnover, as the budding socialite wouldn’t be caught dead photographed in anything twice.Christiana was the grateful recipient of Avery’s generosity. Her hand-me-downs were really more like hand-me-ups for Christiana.She grabbed her purse from her locker. “I’m leaving right now. How come this event is so early?”“Mom said it’d be like happy hour. It’s really so they can all start drinking earlier. Serve anyone interesting today?”“No one special.” She glanced in the small mirror inside the door and smoothed down a few wispy bangs to cover up the two-inch scar on her forehead, now pink from exertion.“Oh, come on. It’s an election year. Everyone wants to be seen.”Christiana laughed. “You sound like my dad.” The silence on the other end signaled Avery wasn’t pleased with the comparison. Another faux pas—something Avery said Christiana was very good at making, like wearing the same dress to a charity event more than once.“Um, do you know Mrs. DeCord?” Christiana asked.“Sure. Former Miss Dallas, married to a high-powered lawyer. Well, at least for now. Women like that go through men like wardrobe changes. Why? What’d she do? Spill it.”“Oh, nothing. She comes in from time to time.” Damn, she shouldn’t have asked. Avery’s natural investigative nature came alive when a fellow socialite’s name arose.“Who was she with today? Not her husband?” Avery’s voice lit up with excitement.“I don’t know what her husband looks like. It was probably him.”Avery snorted. “Yeah, right. No one goes to The Oak with who they’re supposed to be with.”“I’ll take your word for it. Look, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”Christiana stuffed her phone into her purse and sprinted to the garage.Cars choked Constitution Avenue even on a Saturday. Tourist season had begun in Washington. Families clad in matching t-shirts and people carrying maps and cameras would soon replace D.C.’s full-time residents, who would escape the city for Rehoboth Beach on most muggy summer weekends.She shifted in her seat and adjusted the air conditioning vents to blow directly over her clammy chest. Christiana glanced to the National Mall alongside Constitution Avenue. Stopping at a red light every thirty-five feet never used to bother her. It gave her time to take in the sights. But lately the Washington Monument’s constant pointing to the sky created an unsettling feeling. It only reminded her nothing really changes in D.C.Christiana pulled up to the entrance of the Rosemont Country Club only ten minutes late. Sunlight bounced off the brass plaque on the white brick pillars, the only announcement to the outside world that the elite of Washington gathered at the other end of the dogwood-lined driveway. Members of Congress discussed budget negotiations while golfing and bored wives complained about Neiman Marcus inventory while sunning themselves on the terrace.Avery’s family had held membership here since the club opened in the 1920s. Her great-grandfather was one of the founding members. The Churchill women had spent countless hours flipping from their backs to their fronts by the swimming pool and attending mixers and events in the cool evenings. Avery reveled in the ambience. Butterflies usually took over Christiana’s stomach at the thought of crossing the threshold of the country club though she attempted to raise a little gratitude for Avery’s generosity in letting her tag along. Or drag me along.Christiana handed her keys to the valet, whose traditional red coat was replaced by a ridiculous number in black and pink. Oh, right, today’s event was a fundraiser for breast cancer research. Great, she’d be in blue while everyone else draped themselves in various shades of fuchsia and rose. She hoped no one would notice. She knew everyone would. Even when helping a great cause, Washington feasted on mistakes, and failure to heed dress codes was a major gaffe. It took a lot of time and money—none of which she had—to conform to all the rules of Avery’s world. She shook her head and tried to focus on not tripping up the stairs in her high-heeled sandals. But memories of work today and what she’d overheard at the Jefferson Suite kept replaying in her mind. Stop it. Chris. Think forward. She slipped through the massive oak door.



About the Author:
Elizabeth SaFleur is an erotic romance author who is finally sharing what simmers in her imagination—lots of alpha males, seductive encounters, and love. For many years she lived and worked in her novels’ setting, Washington, D.C., in public relations. In her thirty-year career, she represented or encountered some of the city's powerful insiders.
Elizabeth now writes, tweets and posts under her pseudonym, Elizabeth SaFleur, since her former clients might be a little shocked at their past PR counselor’s new career choice.  Then again, perhaps they would fear they provided inspiration. (She has sworn secrecy.)
Her series, the Elite Doms of Washington, is contemporary erotic romance for the progressive woman—unafraid and unencumbered by society’s boundaries.
Lovely, the first novel in the series debuting in January 2015, was inspired one sunny day at an outside café in Washington Harbor where Elizabeth swore she witnessed a woman being lashed to a sailboat mast, happily. Lovely’s hero, Jonathan Brond, was born that day when he silently answered her unspoken question, “does she like that?” with yet another question: “Would you like to find out?”
Today Elizabeth shares twenty-eight, wildlife-filled acres in Central Virginia with her husband and dog, and is sometimes separated from her laptop to indulge in dance classes and visits to wineries and hiking trails with friends. She lives by one quote: “If you really want to be happy, nobody can stop you.”
Elizabeth is a member of the Romance Writers Association, the Washington Romance Writers, and avid reader of all fiction genres, but especially books with a happily-ever-after ending. Visit www.ElizabethSaFleur.com to drop her a note.
Author Website: http://www.elizabethsafleur.com/
Publisher Website: http://www.trollriverpub.com/
Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElizabethSaFleur
Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/ElizaLoveStory
Author Google+ profile: google.com/+ElizabethSaFleur
Author Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/elizabethlovest/
Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8409162.Elizabeth_SaFleur
Author Amazon profile: www.amazon.com/author/elizabethsafleur

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One Day Blitz Feel by Karen-Anne Stewart

FeelKaren-Anne Stewart
Genre:  New Adult Paranormal RomanceSuspense /Contemporary
Date of Publication:  December 15th, 2014.
ISBN:  978-1502757746
Number of pages: 276Word Count:  94,000
Book Description: 
The one whose emotions I can’t feel is the one who makes me feel the most.
I was a sensitive, at least that’s what I was told by the boy who saved me from the overwhelming emotions that consumed my soul, the boy who saved me from myself when my gift became stronger. Through the years, he was my redemption, my reason to take my next breath…then, he was gone.
Jensen always told me I was strong, but I didn’t believe him until I was forced to be strong on my own, and I kept breathing without him. I’ve taken 42 million breaths since the moment he sent me away. Now, four years later, he’s standing in front of me, and I can barely breathe.
This isn’t just a story about the abilities I possess; it’s a story about something much stronger…the love of the man who possesses every part of me.
Disclaimer – Feel is intended for readers 18+ due to strong language, mature scenes, and some violence.
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/SoWsYWu9jik

Available at Amazon


About the Author:
Karen-Anne Stewart  is an author of New Adult Romance who doesn't shy away from writing about sensitive issues and hot heroes.
She has always adored reading and has now fallen in love with writing. Her written works are The Rain Trilogy: Saving Rain, Healing Rain, and After the Rain, and the newly released standalone novel, Ash to Steele. Her debut novel, Saving Rain: The First Novel in The Rain Trilogy, was a nominee for the Book Junkie’s Choice Awards, and Saving Rain and After the Rain were nominees for the 2014 RONE Awards.
When Karen-Anne isn’t writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and friends, hiking, and visiting new places. She fuels her addiction of creating new stories by her only other addiction, caffeine, and listening to a myriad of musical genres. Tucked away near the Blue Ridge Mountains, Karen-Anne lives with her husband, daughter, three dogs, and their cat. She plans on writing new adult romance as long as her fingers maintain dexterity.
Website:  www.karen-annestewart.com
Goodreads Author page:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6920317.Karen_Anne_Stewart
Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/SKarenAnne
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SKarenAnne
Instagram: http://instagram.com/skarenanne/

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Release Day Blitz Debt Collector Season Two by Susan Kaye Quinn

Debt CollectorSeason TwoEpisodes 10-18Susan Kaye Quinn
Genre: Urban Fantasy with a Cyberpunk Twist
Date of Publication:Dec 15, 2014
ASIN: B00OF18W50
Number of pages: 500Word Count: 125,000
Cover Artist: Steven Novak
Book Description:
What's your life worth on the open market?
In this gritty urban fantasy, debt collectors take your life energy and give it to someone more "worthy"... all while paying the price with black marks on their souls.
Wraith is a shadow in the night, haunting the bedrooms of the rich "high potentials" who have stolen life energy from the desperate and dying. The justice and the sweet mercy hit that follow keep her from falling into her own personal abyss.
Her secret nighttime work also keeps her on level for her real mission: carrying on her father's legacy of attempting to bring an end to debt collection as a whole. But when a mysterious debt collector interrupts her in the act and discovers her secret, everything Wraith loves may be destroyed by the one thing she can never fix-- the original sin of being a debt collector herself.
Available at Amazon
Contains mature content and themes.
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/0-ngIMiEF1M   
"Wraith is amazing and just as compelling as Lirium--once again I'm hooked!!"
"I loved being back in this world! Wraith has captivated me."

OPTIONED FOR VIRTUAL REALITY  BY IMMERSIVE ENTERTAINMENT
2014 Semi-Finalist in Science Fiction in the Kindle Book Awards
The nine episodes of Season Two of the Debt Collector serial are collectively 125k words or about 500 pages.
It is recommended that you start with the first season, but each season is a complete story for that debt collector and can serve as an entry point to the series.
There are five planned seasons in the Debt Collector series, the first four each from the perspective of a different debt collector with the fifth season bringing all four together.

READING ORDER
Season One - Lirium - COMPLETEEpisodes 1-9: Delirium, Agony, Ecstasy, Broken, Driven, Fallen, Promise, Ruthless, PassionSeason Two - Wraith 10 - Wraith (10.20)11 - Specter  (10.27)12 - Menace (11.3)13 - Temptation (11.10)14- Shattered (11.17)15 - Penance (11.24)16 - Judgment (12.1)17- Corruption (12.8)18- Atonement (12.15)BOX SET (Vol 10-18) - (12.15)


Excerpt:My new collection suit weighs less than a shadow on my skin, and my soft-soled boots don’t even whisper as I creep across the thick, yielding carpet of my target’s apartment. With the best bullet-resistant synthetics money can buy, the black curve-hugging suit makes me look more like female-special-forces than someone’s hot date for the night. It raised the bellman’s eyebrows, but an untraceable debit card got me waved through the lobby, no problem. Money buys a lot of things. Access to one of the highest-security luxury buildings in LA. A ninety-fifth-floor apartment high above the smog-soaked city, complete with all the clean air you can breathe. And the no-doubt illegal collection of ivory-handled daggers I passed on the way in. It’s too bad for data-mining mogul Adrien Odel that money can’t buy your way out of a blackened soul.I know.I’ve tried.And tonight I’ve come to collect a debt he doesn’t even think he owes.Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Odel’s apartment, the city is lit up with a nighttime electric haze, the kind that makes it look seedy even in the high-rent district. It’s the perfect backdrop for a collection, and my suit is a black silhouette against it, a hole of death punched in the city’s twinkling lights. The high-tech fabric clings to me like the original sin I can never expiate, the one every debt collector is born with: the ability to deliver death with the slightest touch. We traffic in it, surround ourselves with it, and can never escape it.Not that I haven’t tried that, too.But even a short three-week dry spell away from collecting has me needy as all hell. The craving for a life energy hit claws at my back, and every step across the carpet amps up the desire. Even the possibility of Odel pulling a gun and shooting me dead hypes the thrill a little. My palm aches in anticipation—for the justice and the high that comes with it—but I take it slow, watching the placement of my feet and checking the windows. Along one edge, next to a mile-wide screen and some pretentious artwork, there’s a control panel. Only the rich want windows that open in the city, but it’s a bonus for me, especially given the windows face the broad expanse of the skyline and not the high-rise next door. As I check out the control panel, the high-rise becomes a peep show. A woman’s naked body is pressed against the glass, exposed to the city’s onlookers as a man clutches her bare skin and makes love to her. I’m transfixed by the way they move, skin against skin, without care for the contact or the watchers. In a moment, they’re gone. Maybe reason broke through the passion. Maybe the glass was cold, in spite of the perpetual heat of LA. Regardless, the image holds me hostage. Having a lover isn’t something that’s part of my future. Or my present, for that matter. But that doesn’t stop the base need from surging up, usually at the least convenient of times. Then a different image—a cold, pale specter from my past—crawls out of the dark corners of my mind and reminds me I’m not the kind of woman who gets to have a normal life. I’m the kind who takes life and then gives it away. And the ecstasy of that is the closest I’ll ever get to the normal kind again—so it had better be good enough.
I couldn’t stomach even that pleasure for a while, not after what the debt collectors did to my father. I managed a whole three weeks without a single collection. But in the end, it’s the only thing that keeps me stable. And I’ve had a severe lack of stable ever since my father’s death nearly tore down the teetering scaffold of lies that comprises my life. That’s when the abyss reared up and stared me full in the face. Will-power alone wasn’t enough to stop it—the darkness just opened its maw and threatened to swallow me whole. At least that would have put an end the torment… but I couldn’t let the sin of who I am destroy everything my father had worked for. That we had both worked for. So here I am, dressed like a phantom, stalking the rich to give to the poor. With a tremor in my hands that’s more than a little unsettling. For better and worse, it’s the one thing that keeps me out of that dark place and gives me hope that one day I might redeem everything I am and everything I’ve done.

About the Author:
Susan Kaye Quinn is the author of the bestselling Mindjack Trilogy and the Debt Collector serial, as well as other speculative fiction novels and short stories. Her work has appeared in the Synchronic anthology and has been optioned for Virtual Reality by Immersive Entertainment. Her business card says "Author and Rocket Scientist" but she mostly sits around in her PJs in awe that she gets to write full time.
Subscribe to the newsletter for a free short story: http://smarturl.it/SKQnewsletter
More about Sue:
http://smarturl.it/SKQwebsite
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Giveaway Profile of Evil by Alexa Grace

Profile of EvilThe Profile SeriesBook 1Alexa Grace
Genre:  Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: Golden Publishing
ISBN: 0985593954ASIN: B00COA6MX8
Number of pages: 324Word Count: 78,674
Cover Artist: Christy Carlyle
Book Description:
A vicious serial killer…
As the body count increases, Sheriff Brody Chase realizes there is a monster living in his county and using it as a dump site.
A missing girl…
Alison is a lonely, abused and bullied thirteen-year-old who has no idea her online heart throb is a serial killer.
Time is running out…
A life hangs in the balance, and the profiler and sheriff rush to stop the most terrifying killer of their careers.
Available at   Amazon   BN   iTunes
ExcerptBrody pulled up in front of a two-story gray house in a nice neighborhood with palm trees lining the streets.  Flicking on the interior car light, he checked the address he'd been given.  It was the correct address, so he parked his rental car in the driveway.  There were lights on inside the house, which was encouraging, for he had a critical need to talk to the resident.Impatiently, he rang the doorbell several times, and then pounded his fist against the front door.  Damn it.  He had not come all the way from Indiana to Florida to miss talking with this guy.  He had to be home.  Brody desperately needed his help before another teenage girl lost her life.  Sheriff Tim Brennan had written to him about how good this guy was, and if Brennan recommended him, he had to be excellent.  Brody hammered at the door again, before peeking through the front window.  There was no one inside, but from his position he could see open sliding glass doors leading to the backyard.  From the side yard, he opened the iron gate to the back of the house.  The second he entered the backyard, he noticed a woman diving into an Olympic-sized pool.  Transfixed, he watched her as she swam to the far end of the pool, and then kicked-off to swim to the other end, this time on her back.  Her naked body, slick from the water, glowed in the moonlight.  The tiny glittering lights surrounding the pool made her look ethereal as she sliced through the water.He should do the gentlemanly thing and leave, but he couldn't move.  His frozen legs seemed attached to the ground.  He could barely breathe as she lifted herself out of the water.  With long black hair as shiny as glass, she had an athletic build, with full, uplifted breasts, curved hips and endless legs.  His jeans grew tighter as his arousal strained against the zipper.Moving to a deck chair, she wrapped a white towel around her body—then picked up a serious-looking handgun that she aimed at his chest."I don't know who you are or why you're in my yard, but I've got a little secret I'd like to share with you," she began.  "In the past two years, I've shot two men.  Neither man is here to talk about it."Brody stiffened as a wave of apprehension hit him full-force.  He'd been shot before, remembered it well, and had no desire to repeat the experience.  He cleared his throat and said, "I apologize if I frightened you.  I pounded on the front door, but no one answered.""That doesn't tell me who you are and why you're here," she returned, assuming one of the best shooting stances he'd ever seen.He hesitated for a second, and then responded, "I'm Sheriff Brody Chase from Morel, Indiana, in Shawnee County.  I'm here to see Carl Stone."She quirked her eyebrow questioningly, and asked, "Who told you Carl Stone lived here?""A fellow Indiana county sheriff gave me the name and address in an email.  Tim Brennan's his name," he replied.  She slowly lowered the gun.  "Sounds like Sheriff Brennan made a typo.  It's Carly Stone that you're looking for.  Why do you want to talk to me?""You're Tim's consultant?"  Brody asked, with an element of surprise in his voice."My brother, Blake Stone, is a detective on Tim's team.  Last year, he and his wife, Jennifer, did all the work to track down a serial killer.  I just gave them a kind of psychological road map.""I need to talk to you," Brody said as he moved closer.
She held up a hand.  "Not here.  There's an IHOP Restaurant down the road.  I'll meet you there in an hour."
About the Author:
USA Today Bestselling Author, Alexa Grace began her writing journey in March 2011 when the Sr. Director of Training & Development position she'd held for thirteen years was eliminated. A door closed but another one opened. She finally had the time to pursue her childhood dream of writing books. Her focus is now on writing riveting romantic suspense novels.
Alexa Grace is consistently listed in top twenty of Amazon's Top 100 Most Popular Authors in the categories Romantic Suspense and Police Procedural.  In 2013, she was named one of the top 100 Indie authors by Kindle Review. A chapter is devoted to her in the book Interviews with Indie Authors by C. Ridgway and T. Ridgway.
Her books Deadly Offerings, Deadly Deception, and Deadly Relations are listed in e-retailer's Top 100 Bestselling Romantic Suspense and Police Procedural Books.  Deadly Offerings has not left the top ten bestselling free mystery romance and police procedural books since 2011.
Deadly Holiday, published in November 2012, is her holiday-themed romantic suspense novella, featuring all her Deadly Trilogy characters.
Alexa Grace's book Deadly Relations is included in the bestselling book set The Perfect Ten along with Dianna Love, Norah Wilson, Nancy Naigle, Andrienne Giordano, Misty Evans, Sandy Blair, Mary Buckham, Tonya Kappes and Micah Caipa.
Profile of Evil, the first book of the Profile Series was published in May 2013. Profile of Terror was released in May 2014  and Profile of Fear will be released in 2015.
Earning two degrees from Indiana State University, Alexa currently lives in Florida. She's a member of Romance Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.
Her writing support team includes five Miniature Schnauzers, three of which are rescues. As a writer, she is fueled by Starbucks lattes, chocolate and emails from readers.
https://www.authoralexagrace.com
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAlexaGrace
https://twitter.com/AlexaGrace2
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3345983.Alexa_Grace
newsletter: http://eepurl.com/sJ-Df

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Guest Blog and Giveaway with Viola Estrella, author of Haunting You, Book 2 in the Bewitching Women Series

Do You Believe?  In my paranormal romance, Haunting You, the heroine, Rachel Spencer, is a medium. The ability to see and communicate with ghosts began after she lost who she thought was the love of her life. Strong emotions made it possible for her to communicate with him—until he crossed over, and she was forced to lose him again. Ever since then, she’s been bombarded with spirits who’ve made it difficult to live her life—and pass her bar exam.
I gave a lot of thought to this supernatural force as I was writing this story, and it reminded me of some of the strange events that have happened in my life. I can’t/won’t/don’t want to say I’m a medium, but I will admit that I am a believer.
My first supernatural experience occurred when I was a young girl. I woke in the middle of the night to see an apparition—a man in a long white gown—slowly walking toward me. I called for my mom several times before it finally disappeared. My mom reminded me that I’d been reading The Ghost On Saturday Night before I went to bed, and most likely I’d imagined seeing the apparition.
Maybe! It seemed real at the time.
I’ve had other experiences happen as an adult: waking with the feeling of being pushed up to a sitting position, only to discover that my son was lying awake with a headache—he hadn’t called for me…
My husband and I had stayed at the Stanley Hotel (you know, the hotel that inspired Stephen King’s The Shining, and is also famous—infamous?—for being haunted) one night, and I heard loud clapping and footsteps next to the bed. My husband hadn’t heard a thing. Oddly enough, I hadn’t felt fearful or in danger. More so, annoyed with not getting a decent night’s sleep. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful, historic hotel, and I encourage people to visit if they’re in the Estes Park area, but I really like my sleep, so I’m not in a hurry to stay there again.
Rumor is that while filming the bar scene in Dumb and Dumber, Jim Carey stayed the night at The Stanley. Or tried to anyway. Apparently he’d checked out sometime in the middle of the night and asked to be checked in at a different hotel. The story is that he’d seemed freaked out by something but wouldn’t say what it was. I can only imagine!
There’ve been a couple other instances where I’ve felt a strange undeniable presence, but I won’t get in to them now. What about you? Have you experienced any supernatural activity? If so, how did you feel about?

To find out more about Haunting You and my writing, please visit www.ViolaEstrella.com.


Haunting YouBewitching Women SeriesBook 2Viola Estrella
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Date of Publication:  10/25/2014
ISBN: 978-0-9856198-3-1ASIN: B00OU1V41E
Number of pages: 302Word Count: 85,500
Cover Artist: Estrella Cover Art
Book Description:
Rachel Spencer's life has been hijacked by the supernatural. Ghosts seeking help with their unfinished earthly business won't leave her alone. Her only hope for returning to normalcy and passing her next attempt at the bar exam is making a deal with one of the ghostly intruders. It should be simple--Ella keeps the other spirits away if Rachel agrees to help Ella's two teenage sons. No problem. Well, not until she meets the boys' guardian.
August Kline misses his old life. He never planned to raise two teenage hurricanes in an old house in small-town Indiana. But here he is, and he's determined to make the best of it...if he could only keep the house in order and not completely screw up his nephews.
Enter a gorgeous redhead who pops into August's world when life is at its grimmest. Rachel claims to be an old friend of Ella's and offers to help around the house. Sparks fly whenever they're together, and August is falling fast. Rachel keeps her distance, worrying her ghostly secrets will sabotage any chance of a relationship. But when danger appears and threatens the people she has grown to care about, she may have to face more than her own fears.

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Excerpt 1:
So she actually wanted to go through with this?Fantastic. No, more like embarrassing. And wrong. So wrong.A beautiful woman had popped into his life like a granted wish and all she wanted to do was clean his house.He stepped outside, letting the glass door close behind him, and smiled at Rachel because, well, he found it hard not to when in her presence. Rosy-glossed kissable lips, light coppery hair, delicate features, and seductive eyes framed by thick lashes compelled him to be happy. Hell, to be ecstatic. The woman magnetized him. He was a goddamned moth and she was the brightest lamppost on the block. Only question was when would he get zapped?“Hi.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and rocked on her feet. Cute and sexy. Lethal combo.“You came back.” Obviously, dumbass.“I hope you don’t mind. Helping you and the boys would mean a lot to me.”When she put it that way, it seemed kind of rude to object. But… “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”“I want to. Besides, I owe Ella for all her mentoring. She helped me so much. And this is how I’d like to repay her.”“I don’t know.” Why couldn’t he just say “no”? Where were his balls? They were there a moment ago.“I insist, August. So…” She lifted her hand, palm up. “Hand over the house key. You’re not going to win this argument. I’m a soon-to-be lawyer. I don’t back down easily.”“I can see that.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his set of keys. “I’m going to pay you for whatever you do.” Truth be told, he should have hired a housekeeper before it had come to this. If he had, maybe Rachel would be more interested in his bed than his dirty dishes.“No, you’re not.” She grabbed the key from his hand just as he unlatched it. “I won’t accept anything but extreme gratitude.”“Extreme gratitude could come in many forms.” He instinctively reached out to touch her, brushing two fingers down the inside of her forearm.Her cheeks flushed pink as she inched ever so slightly away from him. She averted her gaze to the parking lot. “Um, I’ll get started. Should I bring the key back to you before I leave?”So she was shy all of a sudden? Too bad. He could have some fun debating with Ms. Soon-To-Be-Lawyer. But shyness was good too. The word “challenge” sprang to mind.He leaned against the concrete plaza wall and inclined toward her, catching a whiff of strawberry. He hadn’t gained women’s interest in the past by being inhibited. And he wasn’t going to start now.“You could spend the night,” he said.Yep, that got her attention.She jerked her head back, warm chocolate eyes wide and alert. “Pardon?”August kept his cool, something he’d learn to excel at over the years in NYC, where the women he’d run into weren’t quite as innocent as this one. He hitched up one side of his grin and lowered his eyelids somewhat—a look several of his ex-girlfriends had told him was sexy.Yeah, he was desperate.“I mean, if you’re planning on coming back tomorrow, there’s no point in driving four hours round trip.” He winked. “With gas prices and all.”Every inch of her body seemed to tense, including her clutched fists at her sides. “My car’s pretty efficient,” she mumbled, glancing at his lips before settling on his eyes.“Safety then. It’s a long drive.” As subtle as possible, he reached out again but this time to see if her hair was as silky soft as it appeared. Her skin certainly was. He ran his fingers across her smooth cheek, sweeping a thick lock of unbelievably soft reddish-blond hair away from her face and behind her ear.She tilted her head toward his touch, and he hoped to God the two ladies who had just walked out of Dolly’s Hair Salon wouldn’t scare her away from the kiss he was about to give her.He cupped her cheek and moved in closer.She pulled her bottom lip in to bite and then released it, making him want to taste her even more.“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”Before he could make his move or argue it was the best idea he’d had in years, she took three sharp steps away from him, leaving his hand caressing nothing but air.“I’ll return the key in a few hours.” She turned on the heel of her tennis shoe and race-walked to her car.Ah, hell. “All right,” he called after her, trying to sound as if he hadn’t just tried to make a move on her in the middle of a shopping plaza. And failed miserably. “See you soon.”“Hey, Don Juan.” Loretta heaved the door open, grabbing his attention. “You collect payment from Ms. La-dee-da, or is she planning on paying you the old-fashioned way?”August spun around and pointed a finger at her. “You know I could fire you, right? You realize I’m your employer and not the other way around?”She rolled her eyes. “Hon, you would be lost without me.”Shit, she was probably right. He blew out a breath. “Don’t insult Rachel, got it? She was a friend of Ella’s. And she’s going to be helping me out around the house as a favor.”“A friend of Ella’s?” Loretta scrunched her black-dyed eyebrows together. “I don’t recall Ella ever mentioning her, and she told me everything.”August shrugged. “Maybe there was more to Ella than you know.”“Hmmph. I doubt it. I know everything about everyone in this town, and if Ms. Spencer is planning on sticking around Curlville for a while, I just might have to check her out.”
Excerpt #2:
Trespassing onto land that may or may not be considered school property. Was that a Class D Felony or a Class A Misdemeanor? Rachel couldn’t think with her head fuzzy and her body heated. But she was sure a number of crimes were being committed at that very moment.Including indecent exposure.Oh, cripes.She glanced down at her mismatched underwear and imagined what her mug shot would look like.What was she thinking? How could she think when August was beckoning her?“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” She crossed her arms, wishing she hadn’t gone with the foolish gut instinct to strip. A familiar child-like shame gnawed at the very part of her gut that felt guilty for her near-nakedness. But she couldn’t quite understand why, despite her shame, she moved slowly toward the edge of the pool, continuing what could possibly turn out to be a very bad life choice.“Water feels nice. Come in.” August’s deep voice was grounded by the pool, giving the illusion of them being in a private cocoon. Crickets chirping was the only other sound for what seemed like miles. No traffic. No passersby.The gnawing eased and she allowed her arms to drop. The gorgeous vision before her wasn’t hurting either. The moonlight hit August in ways that danced on the drips of water skimming down his toned, tanned body and cast shadows under his midnight eyes. He slicked his hair back from his face and held out his muscled arms, waiting for her to join him.Committing criminal acts had never felt so tempting.Not that she’d ever committed a crime. She’d always been attracted to the allure of bad boys but had never done anything remotely unscrupulous with them. Yet after she’d seen August undress and dive into the pool, she’d found herself doing the same—wanting to join him.Stop thinking, Rache.I can’t help it.Her guard had dropped for a nanosecond, and now she was standing on the edge of a public swimming pool that high school kids used during the day. Kids! This could be considered a sexual offense. She’d probably be labeled a sex offender for the rest of her life.A sex offender!“This is a bad idea.” The cricket sound gave a synchronized hiccup, breaching the peaceful cocoon. Was someone out there? She quickly glanced up to check if any buildings surrounded the pool, above the hedge line. Thankfully there were none to be seen. No peering eyes watching them from a window.Of course nothing could stop someone from entering through the gate just as they had.“How many people have the combination to that lock?”“To the gate?” He lifted a brow. “Honey, don’t worry. I promise no one is going to bother us. Even the sheriff is at home sitting in front of his TV, drinking a beer. This little town has a zero crime rate.”That didn’t make her feel any better. “We’re committing a crime.” What was Ella going to say about this? She’d wanted Rachel to help August, not do jail time with him.He dropped his hands, one covered his mouth as he attempted to hide his smile. But she saw the flash of teeth, the curved lips.“Are you laughing at me, August Kline?”“No.” He moved to the edge and grabbed her ankles before she could retreat to her pile of clothes. “I’m not laughing at you. I think you’re damn adorable, but I’m not laughing.”The feel of his rough wet fingers rubbing along her skin made her shiver. And almost, almost, forget what she’d been worried about.“Come in with me. It’ll be fun.”She could only imagine how fun it would be to slide into his arms, wrap her legs around his hips. Kiss him. The man had a remarkable body. Muscled and lean in all the right places. She wondered what he did to keep in shape. More so, she wondered how it would feel pressed up against his wet and nearly naked frame.His smile twisted to a sensual smirk as his hands ran up and down her calves. “I dare you to come in.”“You dare me, huh?” She tried to sound playful as her stomach flip-flopped.“Forget about the millions of worries flurrying through that beautiful mind of yours and get in here with me. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Rache. You have my word.”Misdemeanor. Nope, couldn’t be more than a misdemeanor.
“All right.” About the Author:
Viola Estrella loves a story with flawed characters, paranormal elements, humor and romance. She tries to include these aspects in all that she writes and loves every minute of it. When she's not writing, reading, or designing cover art, she's spending time with her husband and four sons in their Colorado home. Viola is a 2010 RITA® finalist.
Also in 2010, she was honored by her local RWA® chapter, Colorado Romance Writers, with the Writer of the Year award. Find out more about Viola Estrella’s writing at www.ViolaEstrella.com

Web: http://violaestrella.com/
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Vampire in Paradise by Sandra Hill

Vampire in ParadiseDeadly Angels SeriesBook 5Sandra Hill
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Avon/Harper CollinsDate of Publication: 11/25/2014
ISBN: 9780062210487Number of pages: 352
Book Description:
It’s been centuries since the Norseman Sigurd Sigurdsson was turned into a Vangel-a Viking Vampire Angel-as punishment for his sin of envy, but he’s still getting the hang of having fangs that get in the way when seducing women. Slaying demon vampires known as Lucipires and using his healing gifts as a cancer research doctor, Sigurd is sent to Florida’s Grand Keys Island as a resident physician where he encounters the most sinfully beautiful woman.
The only hope Marisa Lopez has of curing her five-year-old daughter of is a pricey experimental procedure. When she meets the good-looking doctor, Marisa is speechless. Then Sigurd tells her he believes he can help her daughter. Could this too-hot-to resist Viking doctor be an angel of some sort sent to bring a miracle for her daughter? Or is he just a vampire bent on breaking Marisa’s heart?

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PROLOGUEThe Norselands, A.D. 850…Only the strongest survived in that harsh land…
Sigurd Sigurdsson sat near the high table of King Haakon’s yule feast sipping at the fine ale from his own jewel-encrusted, silver horn. (Many of those “above the salt,” held gold vessels, he noted.) Tuns of ale and rare Frisian wine flowed. (His mead tasted rather weak, but mayhap that was his imagination.)
Favored guests at the royal feast (He was mildly favored.) had their choice amongst spit-roasted wild boar, venison and mushroom stew, game birds stuffed with chestnuts, a swordfish the size of a small longboat, eels swimming in spiced cream sauce, and all the vegetable side dishes one could imagine, including the hated neeps. (Hated by Sigurd, leastways. He had a particular antipathy to turnips due to some youthling insanity to determine which lackwit could eat the most of the root vegetables without vomiting, or falling over dead as a stump. He lost.) Honey oak cakes and dried fruit trifles finished off the meal for those not filled to overflowing. (Peaches, on the other hand, were fruit of the gods, in Sigurd’s opinion.) Entertainment was provided by a quartet of lute players who could scarce be heard over the animated conversation and laughter. (Which was just as well; they harmonized like a herd of screech owls. Again, in Sigurd’s opinion.) Good cheer abounded. (Except for…)
In the midst of the loud, joyous celebration, Sigurd’s demeanor was quiet and sad.
But that was nothing new. Sigurd had been known as a dark, brooding Viking for many of his twenty and seven years. Darker and more brooding as the years marched on. And he wasn’t even drukkinn.
Some said the reason for Sigurd’s discontent was the conflict betwixt two warring sides of his nature. A fierce warrior in battle and, at the same time, a noted physician with innate healing skills inherited from and homed by his grandmother afore her passing to the Other World when he’d been a boyling.
Sigurd knew better. He had a secret sickness of the soul, and its name was Envy. Never truly happy, never satisfied, he always wanted what he didn’t have, whether it be a chest of gold, the latest, fastest longship, a prosperous estate, the finest sword. A woman. And he did whatever necessary to attain that new best thing. Whatever.
‘Twas like a gigantic worm he’d found years past in the bowels of a dying man. Egolf the Farrier had been a giant of a burly man in his prime, but at his death when he was only thirty he’d been little more than a skeleton with no fat and scant flesh to cover his bones. The malady had no doubt started years before innocently enough with a tiny worm in an apple or some spoiled meat, but over the years, attached to his innards like a ravenous babe, the slimy creature devoured the food Egolf ate, and Egolf had a huge appetite, in essence starving the man to death.
“Sig, my friend!” A giant hand clapped him on the shoulder and his close friend and hersir Bertim sat down on the bench beside him. Beneath his massive red beard, the Irish Viking’s face was florid with drink. “You are sitting upright,” Bertim accused him. “Is that still your first horn of ale that you nurse like a babe at teat?
“What an image!” Sigurd shook his head with amusement. “I must needs stay sober. The queen may yet produce a new son for Haakon this night.”
“Her timing is inconvenient, but then a yule child brings good luck.” Bertim raised his bushy eyebrows as a sudden thought struck him. “Dost act as midwife now?”
“When it is the king’s whelp, I do.”
Bertim laughed heartily.
“In truth, Elfrida has been laboring for a day and night so far with no result. The delivery promises to be difficult.”
Bertim nodded. ‘Twas the way of nature. “What has the king promised you for your assistance?”
“Naught much,” Sigurd replied with a shrug. “Friendship. Lot of good that friendship does me, though. Dost notice I am not sitting at the high table?”
“And yet that arse licker Svein One-Ear sits near the king,” Bertim commiserated.
I should be up there. Ah, well. Mayhap if I do the king this one new favor... He shrugged. The seating was a small slight, actually.
A serving maid interrupted them, leaning over the table to replenish their beverages. The way her breasts brushed against each of their shoulders gave clear signal that she would be a willing bed partner to either or both of them. Bertim was too far gone in the drink and too fearful of the wrath of his new Norse wife, and Sigurd lacked interest in services offered so easily. The maid shrugged and made her way to the next hopefully-willing male.
Picking up on their conversation, Bertim said, “The friendship of a king is naught to minimize. It can be priceless.”
Sigurd had reason to recall Bertim’s ale-wise words later that night, rather in the wee hours of the morning, when Queen Elfrida, despite Sigurd’s best efforts, delivered a deformed, puny babe, a girl, and Sigurd was asked by the king, in the name of friendship, to take the infant away and cut off its whispery breath.
It was not an unusual request. In this harsh land, only the strongest survived, and the practice of infanticide was ofttimes an act of kindness. Or so the beleaguered parents believed.
But Sigurd did not fulfill the king’s wishes. Leastways, not right away. Visions of another night and another life and death decision plagued Sigurd as he carried the swaddled babe in his arms, its cries little more than the mewls of a weakling kitten.
Despite his full-length, hooded fur cloak, the wind and cold air combined to chill him to the bone. He tucked the babe closer to his chest and imagined he felt her heart beat steady and true. Approaching the cliff that hung over the angry sea, where he would drop the child after pinching its tiny nose, Sigurd kept murmuring, “’Tis for the best, ‘tis for the best.” His eyes misted over, but that was probably due to the snow flakes that began to flutter heavily in front of him.
He would do as the king asked. Of course he would. But betimes it was not such a gift having royal friends.
Just then, he heard a loud voice bellow, “SIGURD! Halt! At once!”
He turned to see the strangest thing. Despite the blistering cold, a dark-haired man wearing naught but a long, white, rope-belted gown in the Arab style approached with hands extended.
Without words, Sigurd knew that the man wanted the child. To his surprise, Sigurd handed over the bundle that carried his body heat to the stranger.
“Take her, Caleb,” the man said to yet another man in a white robe who appeared at his side.
“Yes, Michael.” Caleb bowed as if the first man were a king or some important personage.
More kings! That is all I need!
The Michael person passed the no-longer crying infant to Caleb, who enfolded the babe in what appeared to be wings, but was probably a white fur cloak, and walked off, disappearing into the now heavy snowfall.
“Will you kill the child?” Sigurd asked, realizing for the first time that he might not have been able to do it himself. Not this time.
“Viking, will you never learn?” Michael asked.
He said “Viking” as if it were a bad word. Sigurd was too stunned by this tableau to be affronted.
“Who are you? What are you?” Sigurd asked as he noticed the massive white wings spreading out behind the man.
“Michael. An archangel.”
Sigurd had heard of angels before and seen images on wall paintings in a Byzantium church. “Did you say arse angel?”
“You know I did not. Thou art a fool.”
No sense of humor at all. Sigurd assumed that an archangel was a special angel. “Am I dead?”
“Not yet.
” That did not sound promising. “But soon?”
“Sooner than thou could imagine,” he said without the least bit of sympathy.
Can I fight him? Somehow, Sigurd did not think that was possible.
“You are a grave sinner, Sigurd.”
He knows my name. “That I freely admit.”
“And yet you do not repent. And yet you would have taken another life tonight.”
“Another?” Sigurd inquired, although he knew for a certainty what Michael referred to, and it was not some enemy he had covered with sword dew in righteous battle. But how could the man…rather angel… possibly know what had been Sigurd’s closely held secret all these years. No one else knew.
“There are no secrets, Viking,” Michael informed him.
Holy Thor! Now he is reading my mind!
Before Sigurd could reply, the snow betwixt them swirled, then cleared to reveal a picture of himself as a boyling of ten years or so bent over his little ailing brother Aslak, a five-year-old of immense beauty, even for a male child. Pale white hair, perfect features, a bubbling, happy personality. Everyone loved Aslak, and Aslak loved everyone in return.
Sigurd had hated his little brother, despite the fact that Aslak followed him about like an adoring puppy. Aslak was everything that Sigurd was not. Sigurd’s dull brown hair only turned blond when he got older and the tresses had been sun-bleached on sea voyages. His facial features had been marred by the pimples of a youthling. He had an unpleasant, betimes surly, disposition. In other words, unlikable, or so Sigurd had thought.
Being the youngest of the Sigurdsson boys, before Aslak, and the only one still home, Sigurd had been more aware of his little brother’s overwhelming popularity. In truth, in later years, when others referred to the seven Sigurdsson brothers, they failed to recall that at one time there had been eight.
Sigurd blinked and peered again into the swirling snow picture of that fateful night. His little brother’s wheezing lungs laboring for life through the long pre-dawn hours. His mother Lady Elsa had begged Sigurd to help because, even at ten years of age, he had healing hands. Sigurd had pretended to help, but in truth he had not employed the steam tenting or special herb teas that might have cured his dying brother. Aslak had died, of course, and Sigurd knew it was his fault.
Looking up to see Michael staring at him, Sigurd said, “I was jealous.”
Michael shook his head. “Nay, jealousy is a less than admirable trait. Your sin was envy.”
“Envy. Jealousy. Same thing.”
“Lackwit!” Michael declared, his wings bristling wide like a riled goose. “Jealousy is a foolish emotion, but envy destroys the peace of the soul. When was the last time you were at peace, Viking?”
Sigurd thought for a long moment. “Never, that I recall.”
“Envy stirs hatred in a person, causing one to wish evil on another. That was certainly the case with your brother Aslak. And with so many others you have maligned or injured over the years.”
Sigurd hung his head. ‘Twas true.
“Envy causes a person to engage in immoderate quests for wealth or power or relationships that betimes defy loyalty and justice.”
Sigurd nodded. The archangel was painting a clear picture of him and his sorry life.
“The worst thing is that you were given a treasured talent. The gift of healing. Much like the Apostle Luke. But you have disdained it. Abused it. And failed to nourish it for a greater good.”
“An apostle?” Sigurd was not a Christian, but he was familiar with tales from their Bible. “You would have me be as pure as an apostle? I am a Viking.”
“Idiots! I am forced to work with idiots.” Michael rolled his eyes. “Nay, no one expects purity from such as you. Enough! For your grave sins, and those of your six brothers…in fact, all the Vikings as a whole…the Lord is sorely disappointed. You must be punished. In the future, centuries from now, there will be no Viking nation, as such. Thus sayeth the Lord,” Michael pronounced. “And as for you Sigurdsson miscreants…your time on earth is measured.”
“By death?”
Michael nodded. “Thou art already dead inside, Sigurd. Now your body will be, as well.”
So be it. It was a fate all men must face, though he had not expected it to come so soon. “You mention my brothers. They will die, too?”
“They will. If they have not already passed.”
Seven brothers dying in the same year? This was the fodder of sagas. Skalds would be speaking of them forever more. “Will I be going to Valhalla, or the Christian heaven, or that other place?” He shivered inwardly at the thought of that latter, fiery fate.
“None of those. You are being given a second chance.”
“To live?” This was good news.
Michael shook his head. “To die and come back to serve your Heavenly Father in a new role.”
“As an angel?” Sigurd asked with incredulity.
“Hardly,” Michael scoffed. “Well, actually, you would be a vangel. A Viking vampire angel put back on earth to fight Satan’s demon vampires, Lucipires. For seven hundred years, your penance would be to redeem your sins by serving in God’s army under my mentorship.”
Sigurd could tell that Michael wasn’t very happy with that mentorship role, but he could not dwell on that. It was the amazing ideas the archangel was putting forth.
“Do you agree?” Michael asked.
Huh? What choice did he have? The fires of hell, or centuries of living as some kind of soldier. “I agree, but what exactly is a vampire?”
He soon found out. With a raised hand, Michael pointed a finger at Sigurd and unimaginable pain wracked his body, including his mouth where the jaw bones seemed to crack and realign themselves, emerging with fangs, like a wolf. He fell to his knees as his shoulder blades also seem to explode as if struck with a broadsword.
“Fangs? Was that necessary?” he gasped, glancing upward at the celestial being whose arms were folded across his chest, staring down at him.
“You’ll need them for sucking blood.”
“From what?”
“What do you think? From a peach? Idiot! Fom people…or demons.”
“What? Eeew!” He expects me to drink blood? From living persons? Or demons? I do not know about this bargain.
“Thou can still change thy mind, Viking,” Michael said.
Reading my mind again! Damn! “And go to hell?”
“Thou sayest it.”
Sigurd thought about negotiating with the angel, but knew instinctively that it would do no good. He nodded. “It will be as you say.”
Moments later, when the pain subsided somewhat, the angel raised him up and studied him with icy contempt, or was it pity? “Go! And do better this time, vangel.”
On those words, Sigurd fell backwards and over the cliff. Falling, falling, falling toward the black, roiling sea. He discovered in that instant that there was one thing a vangel didn’t have. Wings.

***** About the Author:
Sandra Hill is a graduate of Penn State and worked for more than 10 years as a features writer and education editor for publications in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.
Writing about serious issues taught her the merits of seeking the lighter side of even the darkest stories.
She is the wife of a stockbroker and the mother of four sons.
https://www.sandrahill.net/
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Guest blog and Giveaway with Kristina Rienzi

What Does Evil Mean To You?
Have you ever considered what the word 'evil' means to you? Is it defined by one's horrific actions or by their sinister thoughts? Or, is it a primal force some can't escape, even one as simple as low self-esteem?
The question, "What does evil mean to me?" is at the core of my paranormal suspense novel, Choosing Evil. It's something the main character, Serafina asks herself regularly throughout the story as she contemplates the path she will choose for her future.
The reality of this paranormal story is that each character, whether human or otherwise, is charged with questioning evil. Although it may seem like a stretch for us, since they're dealing with evil incarnate (actual demons walking around in the flesh), evil is evident in our world, too. You can find it everywhere, from the people who commit heinous acts to the shreds of doubt we have about our own worth. As humans, our job is to reconcile that experience and overcome the evil in the world (and within ourselves) so we can find a place to live in peace.
My hope when you read Choosing Evil is to answer the story's question: "What does evil mean to me?" If you find the answer is some intrinsic aspect of who you are, my wish is for you to learn to embrace it. Be it anger, jealousy or some other 'evil' within, remember you are human after all.
So long as we don't allow those emotions to define (or rule) us, we can learn to embrace the wonderful people we are inside.
Because in the end, we deserve to love ourselves, flaws and all. No one is perfect. We are all works in progress, no different from my paranormal characters in that regard.
So question evil, embrace your inner demons and ultimately embrace the true, wonderfully flawed, you.



Choosing EvilEnsouled TrilogyBook 1Kristina Rienzi
Genre: Paranormal Suspense/Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Midnight Frost BooksDate of Publication: November 25, 2014
ISBN:9781502271228
ASIN:B00Q5CMY2E

Word Count: 70k estimated
Book Description:
Serafina Murano is no stranger to the paranormal. All of her life she’s lived harmoniously alongside demons. Damon Serpe is a conflicted demon on a mission. Unexpectedly, they collide into each other’s lives and are inexorably drawn to one another.
Dark deadly secrets, gut wrenching betrayal, and elusive questions haunt her and have her entire life. Instinctively, Serafina realizes Damon holds the key to her understanding. If she trusts him, can he help decipher her recurring nightmares and unravel the mysteries surrounding her?
On the eve of her thirtieth birthday, she must select her path and make a difficult choice. One which will change her, and perhaps the world, forever.
Will Serafina embrace the truth and face her evil?
Would you?


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Excerpt:
          Already late, Serafina began sprinting toward her building. She was still deep in thought and failed to pay attention. A second later, she slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Her coffee cup filled with mocha latte went flying, landing all over an impeccable pinstriped suit.           She stopped breathing when she faced the victim of her morning beverage. A handsome bronzed man, almost two feet taller than Serafina, stood in front of her. His irises were so light they looked almost clear. They held a world of intrigue and reeled her right in. Those iridescent opal eyes were magnificent and haunting, telling her almost everything she needed to know about him. He was a demon.           His smile was perfection, revealing a set of incredibly beautiful teeth. He was stunning and he wasn't human. Serafina wiped her moist palms on her dress and gave him a half-smile. "I'm so sorry." She rummaged through her purse for napkins or tissues, not fully understanding why the universe had chosen this moment, a time when her best self wasn’t present, to meet a gorgeous demon, like him.           "No problem, I’m Damon.” His smoky voice made her shudder with pleasure.            "Serafina,” she lowered her voice but it didn’t sound natural and it wasn’t nearly as sultry as she wished it had been. She stepped forward to shake Damon’s hand and her heel caught on the pavement. As she began to tip over, he grabbed her arm and pulled her up straight, all in one swift motion. Now attached to him, her arms wrapped around his waist in desperation. When she realized what she was doing, she shuffled away from him and tried regain her balance.           "Are you okay?" His expression showed his concern.            "I'm fine. But, I didn’t have my coffee yet."  Serafina tried to flatten the wrinkles in her dress and right herself.           Damon laughed, catching her off guard. Relieved, Serafina laughed too. She didn’t expect her attempt at humor to work. Given her morning, she didn't think there was any wittiness in her to begin with, let alone, for it to come with such ease.           When Serafina’s laid eyes on the mess she had made, her posture went rigid. It was a coffee crime scene, straight out of a forensic textbook. Luminal would have exposed her caffeine attack for all to see. For her assault, she should have been handcuffed on the spot. "I've ruined your clothes.”Damon brushed himself off and buttoned up his suit jacket. "I’m fine.”
          "Yes, you are." Serafina meant to say it in her head, or at the least under her breath, but it had come out of her mouth loud and clear. Her face became hot in an instant, so she began fanning herself.             "This might sound like a line, but I’m glad you bumped into me. Where are you from?” Damon’s eyes twinkled, but his question sounded forced as if he already knew her answer.             "Home, today that is.” She failed horribly at making another joke. “But I've lived at the Jersey Shore all of my life." She tried to redeem herself "And, yes, it did sound like a line.” He was definitely the new one in town. "Did you move here recently?"          Damon shook his head. "I'm as new as you. I've lived in Rivershore for many years. I work in Maroon County and for just as long."          Rivershore was an upscale town not far from where she grew up in the modest beach town of Silver Lake. Although she had worked in the city for several years, Serafina spent all of her free time at the Jersey Shore, mainly Maroon County. Even more coincidentally, Serafina would turn thirty years old soon, so Damon was technically the same age as her. Demons never aged past the age of thirty.           From what he said, they had shared the commonality of living and working in nearby towns. So, it didn’t make sense she had never seen him before. Clearly, he had a knack for hiding. However, many years in demon terms could have been any amount of time since demons were practically immortal.           She studied him for more reasons than one, although he was striking and easy to admire. Damon’s exquisite appearance reminded her of a model or an actor. He had a rugged look, yet he was polished. He wore his expensive suit coupled with his five o'clock shadow as if it were a fashion statement. His ebony hair was long enough to push behind his ears. He was a unique mix of a tattoo artist and a Hollywood movie star. The combination really worked for him.           Serafina’s eye contact with him was firm but her muscles lost all of their tension. “Where exactly do you work? I can’t believe I’ve never seen you before.” She felt weak as she visually devoured Damon. She was certain she would have remembered him if she had seen him before. The fact their paths had never crossed was inexplicable to her. Then, so was the supernatural. Humans living with a paranormal reality made anything possible.           Right as Damon was about to answer, his watch alarm went off. He silenced it. "I've got to run, but it was nice meeting you, Serafina. I hope to bump into you again, and soon.”  He touched her arm lightly in a goodbye gesture and once more flashed his award-winning smile.  
          By the time Serafina summoned the nerve to reply, "Me too," he was already gone. About the Author:
Kristina Rienzi was born and raised at the Jersey Shore where she still lives today.  Her debut paranormal suspense novel, CHOOSING EVIL, is being published by Frost Books on November 25, 2014.
Professionally, Kristina has been active in the writing community as a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime-Central Jersey, Romance Writers of America and New Jersey Romance Writers, serving as Chair of the Literary Book Fair in 2013. Kristina has her Masters Degree in Psychological Counseling and her Senior Professional in Human Resources Certificate, working in both fields throughout her business career.
Personally, Kristina is married and a doggie mommy to Pekingese and Shih Tzu pups. Although a lover of New Jersey, she dreams of one day moving to Hawaii and living the “Aloha” way. When she’s not writing, she spends her time reading, watching paranormal investigations, rooting for her West Virginia Mountaineers or relaxing with her loved ones, wine in hand.
Kristina is currently working on BREAKING EVIL, the sequel to CHOOSING EVIL, as well as another paranormal suspense novel, UNLEASH THE WICKED, about an unsuspecting witch at the Jersey Shore.
Website: www.kristinarienzi.com
Blog: www.kristinarienzi.com/blog
Twitter: www.twitter.com/kristinarienzi
Facebook: www.facebook.com/kristinarienziauthor
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